


Where Have All The Cowboys Gone

by Cerberusia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic, Gender Roles, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-26
Updated: 2012-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-30 04:08:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerberusia/pseuds/Cerberusia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Scorpius imagines what it would be like to be Harry Potter's wife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Have All The Cowboys Gone

Sometimes, Scorpius imagines what it would be like to be Harry Potter's wife.

He's been over to the Potters' house before: five days each Christmas, a week or so each summer. He knows where everything is, thanks to Al's fondness for cooking and determination to teach Scorpius. He's getting pretty good at it too, so he can start with that: Mr Potter coming home from work to find Scorpius in the kitchen. Wearing an apron - nothing too frilly, just a normal housewife apron.

His mind catches on that word - housewife. Because that's the kind of wife he means: not Ginevra, who's good around the house but is too busy coaching the Harpies to be a homemaker, but a proper housewife, cooking and cleaning and serving his husband.

Malfoys aren't meant to want to serve: they're meant to be proud and a touch arrogant. Submission is only to be borne for a short time before they rise up and seize the reins of power. Scorpius _is_ proud, proud of his achievements and intellect and yes, of his lineage, although to a lesser extent that his parents and grandparents. But sometimes, he just wants to look after and fulfill another person's needs, not having to think about himself. _Arbeit macht frei_ , so to speak.

So he's there in the kitchen, cooking dinner, and in comes Mr Potter - no, Harry, because he's not Mr Potter to his wife, is he? - in comes Harry through the Floo. He puts down his scrollcase, brushes himself off and comes through to the kitchen for a kiss. Scorpius gives him one, of course.

"Off you go to get changed," says Scorpius lightly, "and dinner'll be on the table when you come down." And, true to his word, when Harry comes back down in jeans, there's chicken with lemon, mashed potato, carrot and broccoli served up. A nice traditional roast, in keeping with this traditional fantasy.

They eat and talk of inconsequential things: Harry's been working on getting some new legislation about Muggleborns through and he briefly details the time he's had convincing the hidebound Purebloods who still sit on so many Wizarding councils. But your father's supporting me, he says, and Scorpius beams across the table, proud of them both (the fact that Draco Malfoy in reality makes it a point to stay out of politics as much as he can is of no import).

So passes dinner, and Harry helps with the washing-up afterwards. Scorpius knows spells that will do it all, but Harry finds it relaxing to do it the Muggle way so they do: Scorpius washes and Harry dries in companiable silence.

Here's where Scorpius has to make a decision as to the direction this fantasy is taking: do they have sex, or do they just cuddle? This time, they snuggle up together on the sofa, Scorpius' head in Harry's lap as he ammends some documents, his free hand carding through Scorpius' hair.

Sometimes he imagines other things - big hands, soft kisses, _Scorpius_ whispered into his skin - but it always comes back to this: Harry's arm over him, around him; warm hands, warm lips. Tender.

Scorpius doesn't have many friends, but the ones he has - Albus, mainly - are very close. But still he craves that sense of romantic, erotic connexion with another human being, and Harry Potter is a most suitable object of pubescent desire: rich, handsome, famous and _kind_. So sometimes of an evening when he's gone to bed in the West wing and his parents are in the library in the East wing, he closes his eyes and imagines that Harry is making love to him like he would to his wife, like Scorpius would want. He'd kiss his neck and Scorpius would sigh; he'd kiss a line down his stomach, and Scorpius would arch his back. They would rock together, like the ocean tides which roll upon the beach and fall back, undulating. And when Scorpius came, Harry would kiss his mouth red.

He can feel Harry's body wrapped around his as he falls asleep.


End file.
